


Nothing But Affection For All Those Who've Sailed With Me

by Chash



Series: Til My Eyes Go Blind [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6888718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke was always ready to marry Bellamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But Affection For All Those Who've Sailed With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tacosandflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacosandflowers/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday to tacosandflowers, who wanted more of this verse! I also put in some babies, because I like to double dip on gift fics.

Clarke had always been prepared to marry Bellamy, right from the first time she saw him.

In her worst moments, between eight and eighteen, she thought she'd only chosen him because she was out of other options. Bellamy was the last of her suitors whom she hadn't met, and while there were princes and noblemen whom she knew and weren't opposed to marrying, she didn't _want_ to marry any of them. Bellamy, at least, was an unknown.

Her mother told her Bellamy was a good option for all the political reasons he was; her father told her that, as a more recent addition to the royal court, he might be a better match for her than someone born to it. His was the more compelling argument, and why it had occurred to her to ask Bellamy not to marry her in the first place. He seemed like he might agree.

But she did think, sometimes, about failing. And when she thought of it, she thought of still marrying him. Because everything she heard about him made her think, well--she'd probably _like_ him. He was intelligent, brave, and kind, always looking after his sister and protecting her less secure place in court. He was an exemplary page and squire, electing for a knight mistress who was not well regarded and serving her faithfully.

He wrote her a letter when her father died, and she's kept it carefully, a secret even from her mother, although it would only help her, if her mother knew she was saving tokens from him.

And then she sees him again.

He's reading a book, so engrossed in it that he doesn't hear the door. His hair is unruly without looking untidy, and he's grown into broad shoulders and long legs.

When he sees her, he stumbles to his feet, flustered and flushing and trying to remember his manners and Clarke doesn't want to marry him.

But she's going to make absolutely sure that if something goes wrong with the wedding, it will be on her, and her mother won't think her betrothed was involved. Because if she's marrying anyone on her eighteenth birthday, it's going to be Prince Bellamy. It's him or no one.

*

"I don't see why you're being difficult," her mother says, but it's fond exasperation, not suspicion. "Aren't you excited?"

"Habit," Clarke lies, absent. She's glad her reluctance is expected.

Her mother's expression softens. "I know you haven't always been a supporter of arranged marriage. But--I am glad you found someone who makes you happy."

Clarke plasters on a smile and tries not to let her heart lurch, as if that's within her control.

She wants to marry him with an ache she didn't realize was possible. She _adores_ him. She wasn't supposed to adore him. It's not fair, to feel the way she does, when she's promised him from the start that she wouldn't marry him.

But--she thinks he might want her too. If they can delay the wedding somehow, she thinks he might still marry her later, when it's her choice to make.

Because he's the only one she ever wants. 

"I am too," she says. That's true too; even if he doesn't marry her, he'll still be her friend, probably for the rest of her life. She'll always be happy for that. "He's--I'm very lucky to have him."

Her mother leans down to kiss her on the cheek. "Then let's get you married."

The problem is that once the ceremony starts, Clarke isn't actually required. Even if she ran, it wouldn't stop the marriage. Her mother can consent for her. It would be a huge scandal, but the only person it would really ultimately hurt would be Bellamy. It would look as if she couldn't bear the thought of marrying him.

His hands holding hers are the only thing grounding her. She's out of plans. She's going to marry him, and--she loves him. She _wants_ to marry him. Just not like this.

And then he turns her down.

"No?" asks the minister. Clarke bites back on a hysterical giggle at his tone. He's so _baffled_.

"Nope," Bellamy says. Clarke can't take her eyes off him. Not that she could before. He reminds her of the first time they met, honestly, his hair all slicked down, dressed up in clothes he'd probably rather burn than wear. It suits him, but all she really wants to do is drag him off somewhere and muss him up.

Even more so, when he's saying he won't take her from her mother. She never knew someone she loved refusing to marry her could make her so happy.

"She can give herself to whoever she wants when she's able to," he says, with the kind of authority that makes her think he'd be a great king. He knows how to speak to a crowd. "I won't take her," he repeats, and then he gives her a soft smile, one just for the two of them, leans down to press his lips against her cheek. He leaves with a final quick squeeze of her hands, and it takes every ounce of royal self control that's been drilled into her since childhood to not follow him.

It takes even more to reign in her smile; she doesn't want her mother to figure it out. Not until she's gotten a chance to talk to him.

"This is a disaster," her mother is saying. Clarke is watching the candle burn down the hours until midnight. "Arcadia has never had a princess unmarried at--"

"That's not strictly true," she says. "Some of the weddings have been delayed."

"Delayed," her mother says. "Not--your betrothed _refused you_ , Clarke. That's different from a snowstorm keeping the wedding party from arriving on time."

"And I'm sure someone else will take me."

She sees her mother's jaw work. "I thought you would be more upset. The ambassador warned us he was rebellious, but to use you like this, to toy with your affections--"

"I'm sure he had a good reason," Clarke says, careful. An hour to midnight. When she'll belong to no one but herself. "Just because I was happy with the match--" She swallows hard. At times, she's so sure he'll marry her, if she asks. Others, she thinks he's looking forward to being free of the entire affair, that he'll be happy to leave royalty behind entirely.

That he really will break her heart.

Her mother's eyes flash, and Clarke tries not to wince. "He wasn't toying with you. You _knew_. Gods, Clarke, you put him up to this, didn't you. This was _your idea_." She doesn't say anything, but it's too late. "Did you think about this at all? Your reputation? I know you dislike the tradition, but everyone has seen how you were with him, no one will believe you have any virtue left, any--"

"Mom," Clarke says, weary. "I'm going to be the queen. I don't care how compromised I am. Someone is going to marry me."

"You've probably ruined him," Abby says, after a pause. "You manipulated him into doing this, and now what's he going to do? He refused to marry a princess. You should have thought of what this would do to him."

If nothing else, she's going to be queen tomorrow, and she can make sure he's got all the titles and wealth he wants. But it still stings, because--she knows how unfair what she asked was, no matter how many times Bellamy told her he didn't mind.

"It's very kind of you to worry about him," she says, cool. "And about my future. But I think we should reevaluate tomorrow. Arcadia has never had an unmarried queen. I don't think my future is as bleak as you think it is."

Her mother opens and closes her mouth, finally settles on, "I'll see what I can come up with for potential kings."

It's the best they're going to do. "Thank you," she says. "I look forward to seeing your suggestions."

Once her mother is gone, Clarke bathes and dresses in her nightclothes, as if she really is planning to go to bed, and not to escape her room to propose to a man who refused to marry her only hours earlier as soon as she has the chance.

"That went well, didn't it?" Maya asks, when they're alone. "It seemed like it went well. For what you were hoping for, that is. Not well in the traditional sense."

Clarke laughs. "I think so, yes."

"I didn't think you were planning to be so--obvious."

"We weren't. I never--I didn't know he was going to do that."

Maya's smile is gentle. "He'd do anything for you. Everyone can see how much he loves you."

Clarke flushes, looks down at her hands. She was supposed to have a ring by now. She was supposed to be getting ready for her wedding night. "I hope so."

"He does." She smiles. "I assume I'm covering for you for tonight, if anyone comes looking."

"Until he tells me to leave, yeah."

Maya kisses her on the cheek. "Don't worry. I don't think he ever will."

She rehearses as she sneaks her way through the palace to his room, trying to figure out what she can say. She has to thank him, to apologize, and then she has to tell him she loves him. That of all the people in the world, she wants to marry no one but him.

Then he opens the door, dressed in sleep clothes, and the words fall out of her head. He's bathed too, and his hair is still a little damp, curly and wild like she likes it, his smile nervous.

"Hi," he says, biting his lip like he thinks she might be upset. All she wants to do is kiss him and never stop. 

Well, except to use her mouth on other parts of him.

He doesn't even let her get through her proposal before he kisses her, hot and desperate, so she thinks he probably wouldn't mind that either.

*

"I think this was probably an improvement on delaying the wedding," Clarke says. She's twisting her ring on her finger, unable to take her eyes off it. She's spent so much of her life feeling sick when she thinks of marriage, feeling like even if she _liked_ what she knew of her husband, he still wouldn't be hers.

But he is. She has a husband, and she picked him, and he picked her, and they love each other.

"Yeah?" he asks. Servants brought his things into their new rooms, the same as hers, but the servants haven't known him for his whole life, and apparently they put everything away wrong. It's a strange reminder how different his upbringing was; she would have called them back and corrected them. Bellamy fixes it himself.

It's the kind of thing she'd like him to teach her.

"Glad I didn't fuck everything up," he adds, shooting her a teasing grin.

"Don't fish for compliments," she says, grinning back. "It was perfect."

He flops down on the bed next to her, and she cuddles in against him, linking her hand with his so she can feel his ring too. Her husband; her _king_.

It still doesn't feel real.

"I'm still figuring out this political stuff," he says. "Why is it better?"

"Because I wanted to marry you. If we'd just delayed it, I would have had to wait a while, so it wasn't--to make it clear I _wasn't_ getting married. That it was--that I was choosing you."

"Yeah, I guess me leaving you at the altar was pretty decisive."

"And then marrying me the next day. The message was very clear."

"Always happy to help."

She presses her lips against his shoulder, feeling tears prickling her eyes. It's been a very stressful--she doesn't actually know how long. There's been a part of her worrying about this for as long as she knew it was coming, and the relief of being happily married on her own terms is staggering. "I'm never going to stop thanking you."

"You better." He tugs her on top of him, pulling her in for a long kiss. "I'm married to the woman I love. It's definitely the worst. I can't believe you're making me do this."

She has to laugh. "When you put it like that, you're right. I'll never be able to make it up to you."

"I wouldn't go that far." He rolls them over, presses her down onto the bed and kisses her again, long and wet and deep. "There are all sorts of things you can do."

"I'm open to suggestions."

To her surprise, he pulls back, regarding her with dark, thoughtful eyes. "Uh, do you--what kind of--" He groans and buries his face against her neck again. "I really don't want to get started on an heir yet, honestly. Is that an option? I know you don't have any siblings, but--"

"I was going to make your sister a princess," she says. 

"Can you do that?"

She can, but it won't make Octavia her heir. She has trouble caring too much about that. "I'll figure it out." She rakes her nails against his scalp, affectionate. "I've got tea to prevent pregnancy. I'd like to wait on an heir too. But I still want you."

He bites her neck. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

*

Given how well they do, as rulers, Clarke's a little annoyed at how much focus everyone else puts on their not having produced an heir yet. 

"Of course, no one's just _saying_ that," Clarke says, dropping her head into Bellamy's lap with a huff. She's turning nineteen, which means it's their anniversary as well. There were a lot of polite non-questions at the party that skirted around the topic of her fertility and the line of succession without actually addressing it directly enough she could respond.

"I'll tell anyone who asks that we have plenty of sex," Bellamy says, leaning down to press his lips against her forehead. "I'm very happy to brag about that."

"That won't really help. Then they'll just think I really _can't_ have children. Or you can't."

"So, you want kids?" he asks, his voice unreadable.

"We have to have some eventually."

He laughs, kisses her lips this time. "You sound so excited about it."

"Are you?" she asks, curious. "Excited."

"Not right this minute." He gives her half a smile. "I like kids. I'd like to have them with you at some point. I'm still not in a hurry, but--I married a queen. I've got all sorts of stupid responsibilities I don't want. This one's better than a lot of them."

That warrants an eye-roll. "You love being king, don't pretend you don't."

"It's got some upsides," he says, grudging, and Clarke smiles. "You're the one who will be carrying children. Any time you'd like to try to start with it, I'm fine with it." He pauses. "I know you consider this a last resort, and I don't blame you, but have you thought about talking to your mom? She might have some actual ideas on this. If it's a real problem or just--nosy assholes who want to gossip."

"She knows I'm drinking the tea," she says, closing her eyes as Bellamy's fingers start to weave a small braid into her hair. "I assume if she disapproved she would have mentioned it."

"I can always count on your mother to voice her disapproval," Bellamy agrees, and Clarke laughs and pokes his jaw.

"She likes you fine."

"Yeah, that's exactly how much she likes me." 

"She knows you're the best king and husband I could possibly hope for."

"Also true. But I think that's more about her lowered expectations than anything." He bounces his leg, a signal for her to get up, and when she does, he tugs her off the couch and toward the bed. "Do you want to try to produce a baby tonight?"

"No."

"Good." He tugs her nightshirt over her head and pushes her onto her back. "You want your birthday present, then?"

"I was holding out for a--" She doesn't manage to make anything up as he leans in, pressing a kiss above her knee and trailing kisses up her thigh. "Yes, please," she says instead, and he laughs.

"Yeah. I thought you might."

*

"Are you going to try to find a way to have children?" Clarke asks Raven, a few weeks later. "Some kind of arrangement with Monty and Nate?"

Raven opens one eye to squint at her. A few months back, Clarke managed to adjust the legal definition of marriage in Arcadia to allow any person of age to marry any other person of age, and Raven and Gina were among the first women to take advantage of the change, with Monty and Nate first among the men. None of them have any pressing need to have children like she does, but it seems possible to her they might want them. Octavia's having one, after all.

"Hell no," Raven says. "If Nate wants kids we could help out, but he has to keep them. I never want kids." Her smile is warm and understanding, though. Since Bellamy brought her here, Raven has become one of Clarke's closest friends; she knows Raven will get it. "Are you and Bellamy working on that?"

"Not yet. But--succession isn't very secure, honestly. We should be."

"Didn't convince anyone Octavia could be your heir after all?"

Clarke's smile is wry; her sister-in-law is now, officially, a princess. She doesn't love the title, especially since she's not even in succession. "I can't believe no one wanted my bastard husband's equally illegitimate but less royal sister as the next in line for the throne."

"Yeah, it sounds so good, when you say it."

"There's a reason Bellamy gives the speeches." She rests her head on Raven's shoulder. "I feel like--I want more time with just him. I know it's my duty to secure the throne, and going to a distant cousin if anything happened to me would be--" She huffs. Bellamy is, technically, her king consort, which annoys her too. If anything happened to her, he'd be a great ruler on his own. There's no one she'd trust with her country more. He should be next in line.

Raven leans back into her. "I know. You guys are going to be good parents, if it helps. And you'll raise good rulers."

"I'm still hoping we'll just abolish the monarchy," she admits. It's not something she mentions often or to many people, her desire to reform the government into something based more on merit than blood, but Raven knows. "But until that happens--"

"What does Bellamy say?"

"He definitely hates the monarchy," she says, smiling. Raven elbows her. "He'll be a good father, and he says it's my decision when we have children. I even believe it doesn't matter much to him. He's not the one who has to carry them."

"Yeah, I assume he's already doing everything he has to do to get you pregnant," Raven teases, and Clarke laughs.

"And then some," she agrees.

"Your people love you guys. I know there are assholes in court who care that you haven't had kids yet, but--I actually talk to the commoners. They're happy with you. I don't think they care. And I'm pretty sure if you died, there would be a very orderly revolution to put Bellamy in charge."

"Yeah, my will's just going to say he gets my country." She pauses, twists her wedding band on her finger. "He says I'm a good ruler and a lousy royal."

"He's not wrong. But that's a lot better than the other way around." There's the brief press of Raven's lips against her hair before she pulls back. "Don't worry about it. You definitely have at least one adviser who'll just tell you to reproduce when it's an issue, right? That's what advisers are for. Being really inappropriate about your personal life."

"Yeah," says Clarke, but she still can't quite _believe_ it. She doesn't care much about a lot of royal things, but the heir could really affect her people, and she cares about that.

In the end, though, it's not a difficult decision at all. Octavia and Lincoln got married as soon as Octavia turned eighteen, about half a year after Clarke did, and she got pregnant only a few months after that. It surprised Clarke, how quickly it happened, but Octavia just shrugged and said she liked children, and Clarke moved on.

And then the baby is born, and she sees Bellamy holding his nephew for the first time.

She knew he liked children, knew he was good with them. He's talked about how much he raised Octavia, and she knew he was a mentor for some of the pages and squires during his own training. He helps out with the Arcadian recruits too, just now and then. But it's not until she sees him cradling Alexander in his arms that she really understands how it is. Watching him offering his finger for the baby to tug on, letting him gnaw on it with his gums, Clarke feels a sharp stab of longing for a family that she never has before.

"Hey, come hold him," Bellamy says, looking up at her with soft eyes. She feels like she's been caught out at something, but he doesn't seem to realize it.

"I'm going to drop him," she says, but she goes to stand with him anyway, and takes the baby when he's offered. He's small and dark and maybe kind of cute. Clarke doesn't feel any intrinsic maternal tug, but--Bellamy's paternal instincts are so strong they're drawing her in without any effort on his part.

"Solid plan," he says. "Just rock him back and forth a little. You're fine."

She does so, and the baby seems to enjoy it. It's--odd. "You think I'll be a good mother?"

"Yeah."

There's neither hesitation nor doubt in his voice, and it makes Clarke suspicious. "That's it? You don't even need to think about it?"

He wraps his arm around her and kisses her temple. "Nope. I'm sure." He offers the baby his finger again, smiles when he takes it. "You're going to be a great mother, Clarke. Whenever you want to be."

It takes some effort to not drag him off immediately, but she manages to wait until Octavia's reclaimed her son, she and Bellamy have finished their meetings, and dinner is over. After, they'll usually socialize, either with their actual friends or with the courtiers, but Clarke claims a headache and gets them out of it.

"Everything okay?" Bellamy asks, as soon as they're in private, all concern. It's almost enough to make her feel bad.

Instead, she drags his mouth down to hers, wet and hot, and he laughs into the kiss, anchoring his hands on her hips.

"Oh, okay," he teases, trailing his mouth down her jaw. "I see how it is."

"I want to have a kid."

That stops him short. "Right this minute?"

"I hear it can take a while."

He pulls back, looks her over. Clarke looks back at him, steady, and finally his smile breaks out. He leans in for another kiss. "You really like the baby that much?"

"I like you holding babies that much," she says. 

"That's gonna be awkward if we have our own," he says, and she laughs, tugging him toward the bed. "You can't drag me off and have your way with me when I'm--"

"I think I'll manage." She wets her lips. "So--is that okay?"

"It's great," he says, pulling her into his lap. He's a little flushed. "I, uh--I was a little jealous about the baby. Kind of thinking I wanted one of my own, after I saw O's."

"You want like five of your own," she teases.

"Start with one, see how it goes." He gives her a grin, starts to undo the laces on her bodice. "But I won't mind if it takes a while, honestly," he adds, with a slow grin that has her squirming in anticipation all on its own.

"No," she agrees. "But we might as well get started."

*

Princess Mariana is born a little over a year later, and she's as perfect as a child can be, in Clarke's opinion. She's small, with her father's dark hair and eyes, but once she gets over the first bout of crying, she just sticks her fist in her mouth and looks around wide stoic interest.

"She gets that from you," Bellamy tells her. 

"What?" she asks. She's in their bed, holding the baby while he holds her, and it's all very--warm. She's tired and she knows, from Lincoln and Octavia, that it's just going to get worse. But for now, she feels safe and loved and happy.

He presses a gentle kiss to her neck. "Looking around like she wants to start a fight with the world."

"I've met Octavia. That's on your side of the family."

"Okay, looking around like she's ready to start a fight with the world, but only if she has to. As a last resort."

Clarke smiles at her daughter. "Well, if we do our jobs right, she won't have to."

Bellamy's nose brushes her temple; babies make him more affectionate, and that's not a bad perk either. "Yeah," he agrees. "That's the plan."


End file.
